


Visions of the Nameless

by RainbowRiddler



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Cartinelli - Freeform, F/F, SMUTTY SMUT, Sex, Smut, peggy x angie - Freeform, peggy/angie - Freeform, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowRiddler/pseuds/RainbowRiddler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt fills (mostly from anons it seems)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. See Me, Hear Me (If My Heartbeat Sends a Signal)

**Author's Note:**

> ANON: Prompt: One of Stark's new toys malfunctions and leaves Peggy temporarily blind. Angie has to ensure she doesn't do anything stupid.

A thud sounded from the direction of Peggy’s bedroom, followed by a shatter.  “Bloody fuck!” Peggy’s voice echoed, carrying with it the seething rage the woman was feeling.

With a sigh, Angie rolled herself from her bed and padded towards Peggy’s room to check on her friend.

“Peg?” she called as she opened the door.  The sight that greeted her—Peggy standing by her crooked night-stand, a lamp shattered on the floor—baffled her.  “English, you okay?”

Peggy turned to face her, but their eyes never quite met.  In fact, Angie noticed, Peggy’s eyes seemed to fail to focus on _anything_ really.  Where the woman usually had a sharp, focused gaze, she was left instead with a hard stare that flitted about as if her friend were trying to find something.

As if she were trying to find _Angie_.

“Peggy?” she asked, a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

“It’s all right,” the Englishwoman immediately assure her, so of course Angie immediately assumed it—whatever _it_ was--wasn’t.  The woman’s hand rose in a pacifying gesture, presumably to calm any feelings of panic Angie might have been feeling, but the waitress was wary when Peggy’s eyes fell slightly in the wrong direction.

“Peggy.”

And then those dark eyes darted slightly in the other direction, but still not quite where they needed to be.

Angie’s stomach flipped unpleasantly.  “Oh my God…” she choked out in realization.

“Angie,” Peggy tried again.  “It’s fine.”

“Oh my God!  _It’s fine_?” Angie shouted.  “Really?  You—can you even _see_ me?”

Peggy froze, caught.  “It’s not that bad,” she insisted.

“Not that bad?” Roared the waitress, incredulous.  “What the _hell_ , Peg?”

“I’ll be fine, I promise!  Howard assured me that—“

“Howard?” Angie screeched, making Peggy wince.  “What the hell did Howard do to you?”

“I swear, Angie, it’ll wear off.”  Peggy took a step in her direction, but seemed to think better of it and stayed where she was.  “Really.  It’s just a side effect from a pair of his goggles I’d had to wear.  According to Howard, hijacking the visual pathways tends to leave one’s brain and eyes at odds for a time.”  She held her hand out towards Angie, silently asking that she come to her instead.  A moment later, Angie pressed her lips into a thin line and stomped over to Peggy.  She held the woman’s hand tightly, trying to subdue the anger bubbling inside her.  “It’s only temporary.  I promise.”

“How temporary?” Angie bit out.

“Twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

A moment passed between them where Angie forced herself to calm down and Peggy wished she could see the young woman’s face so she knew how to act.

“Okay…” Angie breathed.  “How bad is it?”

A wry smile crossed Peggy’s features and she squeezed Angie’s hands.  “I can’t see a damned thing.”

“All right.  Let me just…” she gestured towards the phone, but then realized Peggy couldn’t see.  “I’ll call off work and stay with you until you can see again.”

“You don’t—“

“Quiet.”  Angie’s tone brooked no argument.  “Don’t need you breaking all the lamps,” she grumbled, hoping the smirk made it into her voice.

Peggy smiled in her general direction then, and she knew it had.  “Goodness, no,” the older woman joked.  “We can’t have _that_.”

Satisfied that Peggy wouldn’t argue with her, Angie dropped the woman’s hands and made for the phone.

“Angie?”  Peggy’s voice was soft and—if Angie didn’t know better—slightly vulnerable.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Sure, English.”

Angie watched Peggy as the woman turned her head slightly to the side and towards the floor.  The tender look she saw and the small smile that bloomed on Peggy’s lips made her cheeks flush and her heart soar.

With a smile of her own, Angie grabbed the phone and dialed the L&L.


	2. Prelude to a Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Could you do a story where Peggy wanders in unannounced on Angie practicing her dancing and is completely captivated. The grace and poise that flow through each step, the easy concentration and focus across her face, the swish and swirl of the loose fabric of her skirt floating higher during spins displaying gorgeous legs.

Peggy slid out of her shoes upon entering the penthouse she shared with Angie.  Her hat and jacket joined Angie’s on the coat rack, and her keys fell into a large bowl with her housemate’s.

“Angie?” she called, but no one answered.

With a shrug, Peggy made her way towards the kitchen to ready a cup of tea.  Before she’d quite made it, however, the soft sounds of music drifting through the house caught her attention.

_The study_ , she realized when she followed the sound.  Instinctually, she quieted her step as she approached the doorway, and her breath caught in her chest when she peered inside.

A record player filtered soft music through the room, the sole occupant twirling in time.

Angie’s body swayed and bent to the music, a look somewhere between bliss and focus firmly set on her face.  She moved with a certain grace Peggy had never seen about her, obvious in the way she held her herself.

The firm, but delicate line of her neck was made more apparent by the circle her arms weaved about her head.  Angie’s legs bent, her weight supported on her left as she extended the right and touched her toe to the hardwood floor.  When she bent at the waist, it was with a slow deliberateness meant to draw attention to the ease of her flexibility.  Her hand drew down her leg, fingertips brushing along the skin all the way to her ankles.

Angie raised her right hand and her body followed suit, the muscles in her back and abdomen working to give her a smooth ascension.  The leg she had extended slid back as she raised herself until it was completely parallel with the other and she was on the tips of her toes, reaching for the sky.

A swoop of her arms.  A sweep of her legs.

Angie lowered the tiniest bit and melted into a spin.  The loose fabric of her skirt flared about, raising nearly to her hip and gifting Peggy with a generous glimpse of her dancer legs.

A moment later, and the aspiring actress spun directly into a crouch, a slow bloom following.  Peggy marveled at the effortlessness she could see in her movements.  She stared in awe at the line of muscle on her legs, arms, stomach, and back.  The purposeful sensuality in each of the movements sent her blood racing…

Peggy stepped away from the doorway and blew a slow breath through pursed lips to calm herself.  There was a time and a place for everything, she reminded herself, and interrupting Angie so diligently practicing for an audition was not it.

_Next time_ … Peggy promised herself as she willed the electric feeling to leave her veins and the fluttering in her chest to cease.  She forcibly turned away from the study and the woman dancing therein and headed for the kitchen.  _Next time_ , she reminded herself.


	3. Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woops. Little bit o' smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANON: So could you write a story were Angie and Peggy keep sneaking out of their own party to make out but have to keep coming back since they are the hosts?

“Peggy’s the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.!” Howard had crowed the moment he and the woman in question entered the penthouse apartment.  Angie still remembered the flat look on Peggy’s face.

“We’re going to have a party!” the billionaire had announced loud enough for the world to hear even though it was just the three of them.  Angie could still recall the look on Peggy’s face souring.

But once Howard got it in his head to throw a party, they were pretty much stuck throwing a party.

 

* * *

 

Angie had balked, at first, when the guests began to arrive.  Politicians, military generals, the President of the freaking United States!

She wasn’t cut out for a crowd this high-brow!  She’d grown up in Brooklyn!  She’d worn hand-me-downs from her older sisters and older cousins!  She was a _waitress_ for crying out loud!  Sure, she was kind of an actress.  She’d had a few minor roles here and there, but it was nowhere near the level of success she would have had to achieve to look these people in the eye, let alone mingle with them!

She was in the upstairs hall hyperventilating when Peggy found her.

“Are you all right, darling?”

She felt a gentle touch to her wrist, and Angie closed her eyes against the chatter that floated up from the party.

“What is it?” Peggy asked, her brows knitting together.

“I’m not…” Angie’s hand waved toward the stairs.  “I don’t fit in with those people.”

“Of course you do.”

“Don’t say that, Peg.”  Angie opened her eyes, but refused to meet Peggy’s gaze and turned her head away.  “You know it’s true.”

“It’s not.”  Peggy used the hand not holding onto her lover’s slim wrist to turn the younger woman’s head to face her.  “It’s not true,” she reiterated, thumbing the younger woman’s chin.  Her lips pressed together at Angie’s distressed look.

“Angie.”  She leaned in, her head coming to rest on Angie’s smaller shoulder, the hand on Angie’s chin sliding down to wrap around her other wrist.  “Darling.”  She squeezed Angie’s wrists gently in a show of reassurance.  “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A humorless laugh escaped Angie, and Peggy raised her head to discern the expression on her face.  Distress, hopelessness, and a little line between her eyebrows all betrayed how truly agitated she was.  She looked almost like a cornered animal.

“Nothing,” Angie scoffed, her tone brittle.  “Not unless you can make me forget about it all.”

Now there was an idea, Peggy considered.

“Just forget about it,” Angie sighed.  “Do you care if I turn in earl—“

Angie’s sentence trailed off against Peggy’s insistent lips, her face cradled ever-so-gently in the woman’s hands.  A part of her panicked and then thrilled at the thought of one of the partygoers finding them, but there was very little reason for any of them to head upstairs.

The kiss was simple and sweet, and almost as soon as their lips had touched, Peggy drew back.  “I’ll see you after the party, then, dearest,” she’d said.  “Unless you’ve changed your mind,” and Peggy gave her _that_ look.

It was the look she’d worn after Angie’s first night on stage, no matter that the role had been minor.

It was the look she’d worn after the first time they made love, when Angie was suddenly made well aware of the turn Peggy’s nature took once her carnality was liberated from her very English reserve.

It was the look that said _if you do this for me, I will make your world shatter_.

“How dare you use the _panther eyes_ on me,” Angie grumbled at the woman she shared her bed with.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Peggy promised.  She pressed another soft kiss to Angie’s lips and then swiftly moved away to saunter down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

That was how Angie found herself begrudgingly chatting with the high profile crowd in her home.  Luckily Peggy made a point to stay within her line of sight, and that made Angie feel worlds better.

Or it had.

Right up to the point when Peggy completely ignored whomever she was speaking with and gave Angie one of those positively _burning_ looks.  A moment later, the woman had politely excused herself and ducked down a hallway as she threw a pointed look over her shoulder.

Mouth suddenly dry, Angie excused herself as well, though with far less social grace than she imagined Peggy had.  She’d had to fight to keep her pace even and unhurried as she crept down the same hall.

“Peggy?” she called.

No answer, but the guest room door slid open a few inches.  It was all the signal she needed to slip inside the room.

“Peg?” Angie whispered, as she shut the door behind her.  She reached for a nearby lamp, but stopped when she felt Peggy’s hand upon hers.

“Leave the light off,” she instructed.  An instant later, Peggy’s hand trailed up her arm and to her neck.  “How are you faring?” she asked, tracing the tips of her fingers over the sensitive flesh.

“I’m getting through it, I think.”

“Good girl,” Peggy whispered, and Angie suddenly felt the Englishwoman’s breath on her face--on her lips.

Angie arched against her in the dark.  “ _Good girl_ ,” she mocked.  “What am I?  Your pet?”

For a moment, Angie fancied she could see the glint in Peggy’s eyes even in the darkness.  “Would you like to be?” her lover asked, mouth moving to hover by her ear.  “ _Pet_.”  The sharp T in Angie’s ear was followed by Peggy’s tongue tracing the lobe, and the younger woman’s knees buckled.  Desperately, her hands flew to Peggy’s shoulders to keep herself upright, a sigh of relief escaping her when said woman hooked an arm around her waist to support her.  She tried to turn her head to kiss Peggy’s neck, but the older woman’s hand grasping her jaw stopped her.  “Ah, ah, darling.  We can’t have you leaving your brand all over.”

“Not fair,” Angie grumbled.  A low whine emanated from low in her throat when she felt Peggy’s teeth on her ear, but not her lips.  “You could at least kiss me properly.”

Peggy drew back and cupped Angie’s face.  “This will be the last one,” she announced, and Angie could hear the mischief in her tone, a sweet sort of dread filling her chest.  Their lips touched, firm but brief, and Angie couldn’t help the pout when they parted.

“That was hardly a kiss,” she complained.

“It will have to do.  You don’t want lipstick all over your face in front of the President, do you?”  Without warning, Angie found herself spun about to face the door.  “Now then,” Peggy said.  “Back to the party with you!”  And she smacked her bottom to nudge her in the general direction of the door.

Angie, to her credit, contained her surprise and barely yelped.

 

* * *

 

Four hours later, and Angie was about ready to snap.

She’d endured _four hours_ of Peggy’s games.

Four hours of scorching, smoldering gazes that lingered over her in all the right ways.

Four hours of the woman walking by and brushing her arm or catching her fingers with her own.

Four hours of Peggy casually sidling up to her to address whichever such-and-such she was speaking with-- _by name_ \--and injecting Angie’s importance to her (and her work, apparently) into the conversation.

Four hours of Peggy lightly rubbing at her shoulders when she did so.

Four hours of Peggy bumping her hips a little too closely.

And four hours of Peggy dragging her to random parts of the house to _not kiss her_!

The first time, Peggy had reminded her, “No kissing,” while running her tongue along Angie’s clavicle.

“Not yet, Pet,” she had admonished the time after that, and then spun Angie to nip along the back of her neck.

“Just a little longer,” Peggy practically purred the third time as she bent Angie backwards over a low table and gyrated their hips together.

 _Four fucking hours_ , Angie growled internally as she gritted her teeth at this Colonel so-and-so.  It was getting to her.  She was wound so tightly she thought she might snap if Peggy happened to look at her a certain way.

 _Four fucking hours…_  Four entire hours, and she hadn’t been allowed a single kiss.  Nothing.  Not even a tiny peck.  Every time she tried for one or asked for a kiss, Peggy would smirk at her and smugly tell her she would have to wait.

 _Four fucking hours!_  Four tortuous hours of Angie enduring each and every rendezvous Peggy dragged her off to.  Every single one, and she had yet to have any kind of orgasm.  It was a game to the Englishwoman, she realized, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.  And she’d been _so close_ last time.

“Excuse me, Colonel.”  The woman plaguing her thoughts appeared at her side, hand on her elbow, and flashed a bright smile at the officer.  “Might I steal Angie for a bit?  I’m afraid the wine is beginning to run low.”

The man, abrasive though he was, waved the two of them off and turned to start a conversation with someone else.

Of course, as Angie followed Peggy to the kitchen, she knew the wine story was a lie, and if she hadn’t known then, she certainly would have the moment Peggy whirled about and practically shoved her against the counter.

But still, she refused to _kiss_ her!  No.  Instead, Peggy held her there, each hand clamped like a vice on her biceps.  Her lips hovered just inches away, brows low in determination.

“Peg!” Angie growled.  “Please!”

Peggy’s eyes darkened.  “No,” she whispered, and then that damned smirk was back.  “You’ll ruin the game.”

“The game!” huffed Angie, even as Peggy’s grip loosened and traveled to the hem of her skirt.  “The game is ruining me!”

A decidedly unladylike grunt was the only response Angie received before Peggy’s dexterous fingers slipped up her thighs, and quite suddenly, Peggy’s fingers were right where Angie had needed them for the entirety of the night!

She wasn’t sure what sort of sound she’d made when Peggy pushed her knickers aside and slipped three of her glorious fingers inside her waiting folds.  It could have been a squeak.  It could have been a gasp.  Hell, she could have started shouting the Hail Mary, for all she knew!  But Peggy had clamped a hand over her mouth to silence her, and all she could do was hope she would finally get what she wanted.

“Hush, Angel Eyes,” Peggy crooned, putting her whole body--her entire weight--into the task at hand.  “Wouldn’t want to draw the attentions of our guests, now would we?”

Angie made a strangled noise in her throat right before her legs gave out on her for the third time that evening.  And somehow, without ever ceasing in her ministrations, Peggy hoisted Angie onto the counter and continued to twist and hook her fingers inside the smaller woman.

“Open your blouse, Dear Heart,” Peggy said to her, and Angie couldn’t quite tell if it was a request or a demand.  To be perfectly honest, she didn’t care, and with trembling fingers she undid the buttons on her blouse.

Almost immediately, Peggy leaned forward, her arm angling slightly and causing Angie’s breath to hitch at the change.  She peppered kisses over the tops of Angie’s breasts, leaving little stamps in their wake.  Peggy smiled at them and mentioned how she loved seeing her color so stark against Angie’s pale skin.

Angie felt a familiar coiling low in her abdomen as she looked at the near animalistic pleasure on Peggy’s face.  She squeaked around the woman’s hand over her mouth, clamping her eyes shut and focusing on the forcible twisting, curling, and pumping between her legs.

“It’s all right,” Peggy told her throatily.  She leaned forward to press against her and rasp in her ear, “Let go, Pet.”

And with a quick, but firm, press of Peggy’s thumb to the sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs, Angie’s world exploded.  In a fit of spasming fit of muffled cries and blinding delight, Angie had finally reached her peak after an entire night of torture.  She was vaguely aware of Peggy altering the movement of her hand and fingers in an effort to ease her down from her high.  Still, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, the sensations almost too much to bear.

Peggy’s chuckle was what finally brought Angie back around several minutes later.

“What are you laughing at?” she drawled, Brooklyn accent thick, when she realized Peggy’s hand was no longer silencing her.

“Shall I leave you here while I go and disperse our guests?”  Dark eyes raked over Angie who was sprawled wantonly over the counter.  “Or shall we just go to bed and let them figure it out for themselves?”

Angie chuckled, the sound delicious as it rang in Peggy’s ears.  “Fuck ‘em, English.  Take me to bed.”


	4. Let's Stay This Way Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no prompt. Just didn't fit in the piece I'm working on.

“Darling,” Peggy whispered.  The house lights of the theater were about to be turned back on, and Angie seemed to be asleep on her shoulder.  “Darling, the picture’s over.  You need to move.”  Peggy wiggled her shoulder a bit to jostle the other woman.

“Let me just stay this way until the lights are back on, English.”  

Peggy chuckled at the head of caramel curls as she realized the other woman’s voice didn’t sound nearly as groggy as she had expected.  “You were never asleep,” she concluded.

“No,”  Angie sighed happily, and when the house lights turned on she pulled away.  “Come on, English.  Let’s get home.”


	5. Patience is a Virtue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JELLYSNACK: Angie never gets hurt. She just doesn't, probably has something to do with moving quickly at the diner and having super fast reflexes (she never spills coffee thankyouverymuch). Unlike Peggy who comes home injured so much one of the rooms is a permanent infirmary. But one night, Angie gets hurt pretty badly when some stupid young actor gets a little too excited with some stage combat. And they never thought that Angie would be the more difficult patient.

“Angie, stay _still_!” Peggy scolded and tried not to be too rough with the young woman when she grabbed her arm and forced her back to the bed.

The two of them sat in one of the guest bedrooms—the infirmary, as Angie called it, since it was where they usually went to patch Peggy up after a rough night.  Except this time it was Angie sitting there with a split lip, black eye, dislocated shoulder, and a possibly fractured wrist.

“Damn it, Peg!  That hurts!” Angie complained.

“If you would just _stay still_ it wouldn’t!”  Peggy practically growled at her.  “Bloody hell, Angie!  You’re acting like a child!”

“Oh, like you’re any better when _you’re_ the one sitting here.  You never let me patch you up without a fuss!”  Angie crossed one arm over her chest, looking petulantly away from the woman before her.

Peggy swatted at a pale thigh.  “Behave!” she admonished, studiously ignoring the burning glare aimed at her.  “Furthermore, my injuries are typically minor.”

“Minor my ass,” Angie groused.  “Look, it’s not like I got shot or anything!” she argued.

“No.  You fell off the stage!” Peggy sassed back. “I can’t believe she punched you like that,” she grouched, but Angie refused to respond.

“This will need stitches,” she continued a moment later, tapping a gash near her lover’s elbow.  The touch reminded Angie of the cymbal she’d caught her arm on when she’d toppled into the pit and all the instruments therein.

Said actress made to stand up again, saying “It’s not like it was on purpose, English,” but Peggy clamped her hand on Angie’s thigh—hard—her exceptional strength like an iron bar and holding the actress in place.

“Damn it, Peggy!” Angie hissed, her anger mixed with the hint of pain she felt from Peggy’s nails digging into her flesh.

“ _Sit_!”

It wasn’t often that Peggy used the _Scary Army Lady_ voice on her, and Angie was sufficiently cowed.  She relaxed onto the bed as Peggy went about checking her over, doing her best to ignore the eyes like flint that passed over her face.

“ _Stitches_ ,” Peggy reiterated, guessing the reason Angie had been so eager to leave just moments ago.  “But first, we need to get that shoulder back in place.”

And Angie felt her stomach drop.

This was going to hurt…


	6. Midnight Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EMERYSAKS: How about Peggy and Angie take in a show and afterwards take the subway back. Peggy takes advantage of the relative lateness to covertly display affection - hands bumping, arranging her coat over their laps to hold hands, caress Angie’s thigh, maybe a little footsie. By the time they get off the train, Angie is running hot and pulls Peggy into the first alley they come across to kiss her senseless.

V1.01

 

A brisk November evening found Angie stepping light-heartedly from a theater with Peggy in tow.  It was cold, and as she clutched her lapels a bit tighter she pointedly stared at her friend’s jacket, draped casually over the woman’s arm.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked as she stepped to the curb to hail a taxi.

“Not at all,” Peggy assured her.

Angie shrugged as a taxi pulled to a stop beside her.  The two of them slid into the back, Peggy giving their address in East Harlem.

Much of the ride was silent, and Angie noted the way Peggy watched the rearview mirror and how the woman’s eyes would narrow when they met the driver’s.  Angie gave up counting how long the exchange carried on once they reached five minutes, but was glad to feel that her girlfriend eventually relaxed into the seat beside her.

She touched Peggy’s hand, hoping to make sure everything was all right.  It was the squeeze she received in return, and Peggy maneuvering her coat to cover their joined hands, that finally put Angie’s mind at ease. With a sigh, the waitress gave a short squeeze back and melted into the cushion behind her.

She closed her eyes, head against the seatback, and reveled in the warmth and comfort of Peggy’s fingers twined with her own.  She felt the older woman shift beside her, but Angie kept her eyes closed and her head tilted back, figuring Peggy was just getting a bit more comfortable.

Then she felt it.

A soft, but firm pressure that started at her foot and steadily climbed higher.  The fleeting feeling of warmth that bled through two layers of nylon and dissipated again a moment later.  The sudden sensation of Peggy’s toenail scraping against her calf through their hose.

Angie’s eyes flew open and she looked to Peggy, who—for all appearances—was carefully watching the rearview mirror.  Her mouth worked soundlessly, wanting to ask the Englishwoman beside her exactly  _what_  she was doing, but also not wanting to get caught.  She glanced at Peggy, then to the driver, and back again several times over.  It wasn’t until the fifth pass that Peggy finally glanced over and caught her eye.

The glint in her lover’s gaze was at once purposeful and mischievous, and Angie found her heart had jumped into her throat at the sight.  It was almost always bad news when Peggy got that look about her.  The woman even had the audacity to fire a saucy wink at her right before she turned back to staring at the driver through the mirror.

Angie’s own eyes slid over to the mirror to glimpse their driver, who was very studiously ignoring them and watching the road.  He seemed almost unnerved, Angie thought; most likely the result of his staring contest with Peggy.

A tickle against her thigh brought Angie’s attention back to her companion.  To her displeasure, Peggy was still looking dead ahead, a bland expression on her lovely face.  Then Peggy glanced her way once more, the look in her eyes giving way to something dark and sinful.  The following quirk of her velvety red lips sent a jolt through Angie, her skin prickling into gooseflesh in anticipation.

Beneath the coat, Peggy’s fingers danced up her thigh, perfectly polished nails scraping against Angie’s skin.  Angie felt her pulse leap when the older woman toyed with the hem of her skirt. She felt the digits roll against the skin of her thigh and wrap into the fabric of her skirt until Peggy ever-so-slowly dragged it towards her hips.

Angie’s eyes went wide, and she looked incredulously at Peggy.   _Here?_  she tried to convey, her panicked gaze shooting to their driver.   _Now?_

Peggy’s smile grew into something absolutely wicked, and her eyes glinted dangerously.  Her eyebrow twitched a bit higher at Angie, almost as if to say  _Why not?_

Which was all the warning Angie had before Peggy’s fingers were firmly caressing her inner thigh and working their way higher.  Angie bit her lip against the light gasp that tried to escape her.

Then those nails dragged across the material of her unmentionables, deliciously stimulating the flesh beneath.  The electric feeling it elicited swept through the pit of her stomach and pooled with a wet warmth where Peggy was methodically stroking.

Angie swallowed a groan and fisted a hand in her own jacket.  Her cheeks flamed as Peggy pressed against her clit, finger roving in slow circles against the bundle of nerves.  Her hips jerked of their own accord, the rest of her body following suit.

Miraculously, the driver made no indication of noticing Angie’s sudden spasm, for which she was unendingly grateful as she bit the inside of her cheek against the sensation of Peggy working her over.

Her heartbeat stopped the moment she felt Peggy hook her fingers around the crotch of her knickers and tug them aside, her eyes rolling back and her mouth dropping open noiselessly when Peggy slid through her wet folds.  And just when her heart stuttered back to life she felt the insistent pressure of one of Peggy’s fingers against her entrance.

“Stop the cab!” she choked out, and the driver slammed the brakes and pulled over.  The moment they were stopped, she was shoving Peggy away from her and towards the door.  The older woman discreetly wiped her hands against her jacket while Angie quickly fixed her skirt.

“Hey, Lady, what’s the problem?  This ain’t East Harlem!”

“Sorry, Mister,” she said. “Car sick.”  When Peggy finally opened the door and stepped out, Angie bolted out right behind her and marched down the street.  She listened as Peggy paid the fare, wishing the cab driver a good evening before he pulled away.

A few paces later, when Peggy approached her and asked “What was that about?” with a light chuckle, Angie grabbed her wrist and hauled her into an alley.  She shoved the taller woman into a stone wall, immediately surging forward to meld their lips together.

“You know exactly what that was about!” she growled into Peggy’s mouth.

Another chuckle—breathy this time—spurred Angie on, her small hands grabbing none-too-gently at Peggy’s neat pencil skirt and rucking it up to her hips. She pressed another burning kiss to Peggy’s lips, their teeth clattering together a few times and the taller woman nipping at Angie’s tongue at one point, before she trailed to her neck and bit down.

The sting of Peggy’s unbelievably strong grip on her shoulders and the choked grunt she let loose was enough to make Angie grin against her fair skin.  She clutched at Peggy’s waist, pressing her more fully against the wall, and pushed one of her legs between the other woman’s.

“Angie,” Peggy breathed.

Another bite to her girlfriend’s neck, and Angie maneuvered one of her hands away from Peggy’s hip to pull her knickers out of the way.  She passed a finger over the woman’s sex, delighted to find her already slick with want—no doubt an effect of their game in the taxi.  A second pass to wet her fingers, and Peggy’s hips bucked gently against Angie’s hand.

“Angie!” Peggy begged.

“I thought you liked games,” Angie sassed, darkly.  A glare and a tight squeeze on her wrist were all the answer Angie got before Peggy forcefully guided her hand right where she needed it.

Angie watched Peggy gasp and jolt at the feeling of two fingers inside her. She’d been set on payback, but watching the woman before her shake with need, she couldn’t help the impulse to see her come undone.  And so, she curled her fingers and pressed her thumb to Peggy’s clit, a guttural and unrestrained moan her reward.

She didn’t bother with being gentle, there would be plenty of time for that when they got home.  Instead, she worked her entire arm, rocking Peggy onto her toes, the woman’s head and shoulders rolling against the stone wall.

Every curl of her fingers and every thrust of her arm elicited a gasp or a grunt from Peggy.  A twisting heat bloomed low in Angie’s stomach and spread pleasantly as she looked over the flushed curve of her lover’s cheek.  She leaned in and cooed something nonsensical near Peggy’s ear before she kissed the woman’s jawline.  The hand that remained on Peggy’s hip encouraged her to rock against Angie’s hand—the younger woman’s leg propped behind it and offering a stronger pressure than she would normally be able to deliver.

Peggy was steadily becoming much more vocal in her approval and, though Angie briefly worried they would be discovered, the waitress urged the woman on. “I’ve got you, Peg,” Angie told her through a pant.  The pain in her shoulder was nearing unbearable—just the way she liked it, in these moments—as Peggy’s grip tightened.  She felt the woman’s other hand snaking up her neck and to her hair to grip just as ferociously.  “I’ve got you!” she repeated.

“Fuck!” Peggy growled low through clenched teeth as her eyes squeezed shut.  Angie could just make out the beginning fluttering of muscles around her fingers.

“I’ve got you!” she said again, the desperation to see her partner wrecked slipping into her voice.  She flicked her thumb a bit harder over Peggy clit and jerked her fingers with a little more force.

“Fuck!  Bloody—FUCK!” Peggy cried, voice several octaves higher and echoing through the alley.

“That’s it,” Angie eased, working her lover through the spasms of her climax.  “That’s it,” she murmured sweetly, even as she felt Peggy’s fingers digging into her scalp.  She smiled at the throaty groans that continued to reverberate off the walls, a primal sort of satisfaction filling her chest.  “I have you, sweetheart.  That’s it.”

When Peggy’s grip began to loosen, Angie pressed herself close and nestled her head under the woman’s chin, content to just breathe her in.  For several long minutes, they stayed that way, Angie craning her neck to kiss the underside of the woman’s jaw.

Then, as the twitching around her fingers subsided, she carefully withdrew and moved her lips to Peggy’s to drink up a disappointed moan.  Angie guided the kiss, soft and sweet, as she rubbed soft circles into Peggy’s hip with the pad of her thumb.

They split with a soft pop, and Peggy sighed as she leaned their foreheads together.  “Minx,” she whispered, a smile on her face.

Angie grinned and dragged Peggy in for another kiss.  “You started it,” she reminded, lips moving against her lover’s.  Another kiss, heady with the want simmering in the pit of Angie’s stomach.  “Now let’s get home.  I’m  _cold_ ,” she muttered as she stepped away from Peggy.  She bent to retrieve the Englishwoman’s coat from the ground—and, really, when had  _that_ happened?—brazenly tossing a wink over her shoulder.

It was only moments later, as they helped one another straighten up, that she hoped they didn’t end up in the same cab as before.

 


	7. Pistol Packin' Mama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Peggy brings work home to one night Angie starts singing "Pistol Packin Mama" till Peggy groans and stops worrying over whatever it was.

Peggy sat at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of wine and going over paperwork for the fourth night in a row.  Her eyes burned from staring at the lettering for too long, and her neck ached from looking down at the reports for hours.

The only thing keeping her headache at bay was Angie’s soft humming of a beautiful, though admittedly quirky, tune.  The melody, coupled with the sounds of running water as the young woman filled the sink to clean their dinner dishes, filled the kitchen and calmed Peggy’s frayed nerves.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, after several hard clanks of ceramic and metal, that Peggy realized the tune her lover was humming was _Pistol Packin’ Mama_.

She froze for half a moment, then carefully placed her paperwork on the table and turned her body ever-so-slightly to see Angie from the corner of her eye.

She was tense, Peggy could tell.  Her shoulders were taut, and she moved with a certain rigidity that was typically absent from her mannerisms.  Not a good sign.

And the tune…

“Are you planning to shoot me, darling?” Peggy asked, hoping a bit of humor would pull Angie from her mood.  When the other woman didn’t even glance at her, Peggy knew something was wrong.

“Don’t know what you mean, English.”  The tease was filled with an underlying tension that made Peggy flinch.

"Angie, whatever is the matter?"  The note of concern in Peggy's voice seemed to do more harm than good, as the tension in Angie's shoulders only got worse.

"Nothin's the matter, Peg," she bit out, never once looking away from the dirty dishes.  "It's not like we were supposed to spend the evening together or anything."

And then it dawned on her.  The promise she'd made the night before...

The promise of " _just us_ " she'd made to an irritated Angie after three nights of silent dinners and unending paperwork.

" _No work_ ," she'd told Angie.

" _Just us_ ," she’d said

“ _I promise._ ”

"Oh," she breathed, mostly to herself.

Angie slammed a plate in the sink, clearly disgusted.

"Darling--"

"Don't you _darling_ me!" Angie hissed.  She whirled on Peggy, hands soapy and water flying everywhere.  "You promised!"

"I know."  Peggy rose from her seat, and slowly approached Angie.

"You promised!"

"I forgot."  She reached out and took Angie's dripping hands in her own.

"I hate you," Angie seethed as she ripped her hands away and turned back to the sink.

Peggy brushed off the final proclamation, all too familiar with the young woman's Italian temper.  Instead, she scooted in behind her and rested her hands on Angie’s waist.

"I'm sorry," she told her lover in a whisper.

Angie ignored her and focused instead on the dinner dishes.  She grumbled something about slaving over a hot oven to prepare Peggy's favorite dish—lasagna—and complained that this was the thanks she got!  She muttered to herself about how she should have known tonight wouldn't be any different from the others.

Peggy only slipped her arms around her waist held her tight.  She leaned fully into Angie's back and hooked her chin over her shoulder.

She considered kissing Angie’s neck or the shell of her ear, but decided against it.  The woman was far too cross with her, and would likely turn her away.  She would send her packing to one of the guest bedrooms to rough it alone for a night or more...

But even as angry as she was, Angie hadn't pushed her away yet, and that bolstered Peggy’s courage enough to try something a little more unexpected.

She tilted her head to the side, mouth angled to Angie's ear, and crooned in a low, slightly off-key voice, " _Lay that pistol down, Babe._ ” She followed the slower tempo Angie had in her humming.“ _Lay that pistol down_."

She sang quietly, her singing voice—oddly high and husky—for Angie's ears only.  " _Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down_."

She tightened her hold the slightest bit, and when she saw the edge of a smile around her girlfriend’s cheek, she nuzzled her nose against her neck.

" _Lay that pistol down, Babe.”_

The tension bled from Angie's shoulders and a light chuckle bubbled from her throat.  She quipped something about Peggy telling the truth when she said she couldn't carry a tune.

_“Lay that pistol down_."

She lamented how she just couldn’t stay angry when the woman tried to sing.

Peggy smiled at the comment and tucked nearer to Angie, bringing her lips to brush the woman's ear.  " _Pistol Packin' Mama_ ," she sang, and pressed a kiss just below the lobe, " _Lay that pistol down_."


End file.
